


das Wasser soll dein Spiegel sein

by moon_waves



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Sehnsucht Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-07 17:54:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_waves/pseuds/moon_waves
Summary: “Please stay with me.”The voice was soft, almost a whisper in his ear, a cold breath touching upon his heart – but Schneider didn’t turn around, focusing instead on the path straight ahead. Cold fingers brushed against his hand, light as a butterfly’s wing, before dropping, leaving the faintest ghost in their wake.





	das Wasser soll dein Spiegel sein

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arrestzelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/gifts).

> Written for the hurt/comfort prompt n°4: “Please stay with me.”
> 
> Dear, I hope you'll like it ❤️

> **“Please stay with me.”**

_Spring 1998._

The voice was soft, almost a whisper in his ear, a cold breath touching upon his heart – but Schneider didn’t turn around, focusing instead on the path straight ahead. Cold fingers brushed against his hand, light as a butterfly’s wing, before dropping, leaving the faintest ghost in their wake.

It was becoming more difficult to control himself and not turn around, but Schneider squared his jaw, barely blinking. He could still hear the noise of the crowd behind them – but no, it made no sense, _no sense at all_, he was in a forest, not on stage, they had left the venue hours ago, they had left the stage a long time ago...

The stage… there had been something on the stage, something he had followed at the end of the show, guided by the flames – but not, it wasn’t right, he had followed his bandmates, not a fiery shadow shaped as a person, he had been walking through the corridors of the venue, the path under his feet had been made of cement, it had been concrete, not dusting staining his…

Staining his…

He shivered, bringing his clothes tighter around his body, wondering why he hadn’t changed from his stage outfit before leaving the stage – before getting on the path, and there was silver on his hands, silver strands on his hands, and it was the color of his hair, wasn’t it?

No, not his hair, it was the color of –

The color of –

Something curled around his bicep, the ghost of a hand warming his skin before he shook it away, disappearing into the night, his thoughts flying away from him at the same time. There was a whisper in his ear, something that tickled and it stirred a long-lost feeling inside him, a silver shadow brushing against his hands – but no, you couldn’t hold light in your hands, and he hold drumsticks, not light, silver strands of –

The forest was closing down around him and he couldn’t see the stars through the leaves anymore, there was no more light to guide him – and yet the moonlight was red, but he couldn’t see the path in front of him anymore, fallen leaves cracking under his feet before turning to dust and dust turning to rocks, water running between the rocks, a river slowly making its way between his feet...

His breath hitched and he stopped for a brief moment, his heart beating loudly in his rib-cage, the sound buzzing in his ears. He was cold all of a sudden, so cold, and he could feel the cold wind blowing against his skin, making him shiver. The presence was still behind him, cold fingers grazing against the naked skin of his arm once again and he shook the hold away, walking a little faster this time. 

Clouds were obscuring the sky and his breath caught in his throat, almost yelping something brushed against his arm – but it was just the branch of a tree, black and skeletal and dead on itself, spiderwebs sticking to his skin. 

“Chris...”

There was the whisper in his ear again, and he started running, water splashing around him. The stones under his feet were slippery and he almost tripped more than once, more branches grazing at his arms, cutting into his skin as he made his way down the path, the presence still behind him. It was so _silent_, there were none of the sounds he had associated to the forest at night, no owls hooting, no wolves howling, not even the whisper of the river at his feet, just a faint humming steadily growing in his ears, sending a shiver down his spine.

The voice was becoming more insistent in his ear, cold fingers trying to grasp at his arm again and once more he shook them away, blood beating in his temples. He had to keep running – from what, he didn’t know, _he didn’t remember_, and the water was heavier around his feet, slowing him down, while trees were closing down onto him, tearing into his skin, making him hiss in pain, and he had to keep running – and his legs were so heavy, it was so difficult to move them, _why was it so difficult to move?_

“Chris!”

Something took hold of his shoulder and he tried to get away, tripping and falling on his hands and knees into the river, unable to move his legs anymore. The shock was more painful than he had expected and clouds briefly disappeared for a moment, leaving him gasping at the river of blood he was currently kneeling into, the red liquid sticking to his hands, heavy and viscous.

A scream tore open his throat and he felt two hands – warm, _living_, rough and callused hands – holding onto his shoulders, shaking him forcefully, while the ground underneath him shook slightly, the humming growing stronger around him – and his legs were still stuck, _why were his legs stuck?_

“For Christ’s sake, Schneider, wake up!”

A bright light suddenly flashed in his eyes and he backed away, violently banging his head against the wall behind him, legs tangled in roots, branches weighing him down.

“Ow!”

Disoriented, blinking a few times, it took him almost a minute to recognize his surroundings, the throbbing pain in his head almost making him dizzy. 

Paul, Till and Ollie were right in front of him, the same identical look of worry on their faces, spiked silver hair forming a halo around their heads. Paul’s hands were still raised in front of him, while Ollie was holding a flashlight. They stared at him for a brief moment, unmoving, before Till hesitantly put a hand on his knee, making Schneider realize his legs had gotten tangled in his sheets in his sleep.

His bed was moving – of course his bed was moving, he was on the tour bus, they were all on the tour bus, and he had just hit his head against the wall, and he spotted Flake and Richard looking at him from behind the shoulders of the others, all five of them looking rather disheveled in their pajamas. 

“I had a nightmare,” he mumbled dimly, the words hovering in front of him for a moment before he noticed his bandmates relaxing as he spoke.

“No kidding,” Richard mumbled with a roll of his eyes, hissing a little when Paul elbowed him in the stomach. “You were yelling, Doom. What happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Schneider said in a low voice, kicking his legs from under the sheets to disentangle himself.

Here were the roots that had been holding him and weighing him down – and honestly, what was the problem with his mind? A river of blood? In the middle of the forest?

His throat felt sore and he reached for the bottle of water that was usually next to his pillow, frowning a little when he noticed it wasn’t there. Till’s worried eyes weighed on him before the bottle appeared between him and Paul, Richard’s outstretched arm nudging itself between the two of them.

“Sorry I woke you up,” Schneider mumbled after taking a gulp of water, feeling a bit more like himself now. “You can go back to bed now, I’m fine.”

His heartbeat was starting to calm down and he felt a little guilty for having woken up everyone – God knew they needed the rest, with the touring schedule they were onto, driving across Europe to support their new album.

“If you say so,” Flake said quietly, not particularly convinced, the look on his face mirrored on Till’s expression. 

They all retreated quietly, sending him one last worried look before going back to their bunks – and he vaguely noticed Richard following Till to his bed before Paul came to sit down next to him, one hand on his knee. Schneider moved his leg out of the way a little, making a little room for the guitarist to settle more comfortably.

They waited in silence until their bandmates had settled back to their beds, bed frames squeaking a little until they were the last ones sitting down. Finally, Paul closed the curtains, plunging them in almost darkness. It took Schneider a few seconds to get used to the lack of light, the moonlight peering through the dark windows of the bus just enough for him to discern the traits of Paul’s face.

“What happened?” Paul asked in a low voice, hand still resting on his knee, his spiked silver hair forming a halo around his head.

Wordlessly, Schneider put his hand on top of Paul’s, squeezing it briefly before tugging him closer. Paul went easily, his hand moving in the space between Schneider’s leg for better equilibrium while the other went to his neck as their faces met.

The kiss was a little rough, a little desperate, and Schneider bit onto Paul’s lip, muffling his little yelp when he deepened the kiss. The guitarist moved to straddle his legs, sitting more comfortably, the bed squeaking under them. A snore made them pause for a brief moment and they waited for another reaction – that never came – before kissing again, lips brushing tenderly before they separated.

Their foreheads rested against one another and Schneider closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing, still a little uneven. He kept one hand on Paul’s neck while the other fell down on his lap before being cupped into Paul’s hands, his calloused fingers brushing across the skin. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Paul asked quietly, mindful of their sleeping bandmates – at least two different snores could be heard already, and the others probably wouldn’t be long to come.

“It was just a nightmare,” Schneider said quietly, reopening his eyes and moving his head a little to look at Paul.

His lover was staring at him, brows furrowed with worry, hands idly playing with his fingers – and Schneider felt the remnants of his nightmare disappearing against his warm touch. He was out of that goddamn forest now, and Paul was here, holding onto him – he was _good_.

“I don’t even know what it was about,” he added with a little laugh – and if it was a little broken, well... he had the right to be slightly shaken up, didn’t he? – before bringing Paul closer to him.

They kissed again, the urgency present earlier disappearing into slow reassurance. Schneider’s hands moved to Paul’s waist, the guitarist straddling him as his hands moved to cup his cheeks. It felt nice, being held like that and it did wonders for his mood as well, the cold sweat on his back finally forgotten as he warmed up to the touch. Taking advantage of the moment, he let himself turn into a puddle under Paul’s administrations, the bus’s small vibrations as it drove off lulling him into a more relaxed state. 

“Lie down,” he whispered against Paul’s mouth after a moment, lips tingling from their continuous kissing.

The bed squeaked again under their combined weight but they ignored the sound, used to it, before drawing the sheet over them, hands still holding tightly onto each other’s body. Schneider’s heartbeat was going a little wild once more, but it was for a different reason this time – an entirely pleasurable one – and he rolled Paul on his back, making sure the guitarist was firmly set underneath him before setting to work on his neck.

A moan came out of Paul and they stilled for a moment, waiting for a reaction – but nothing could be heard except for a couple of snores. Exchanging a look, they smiled a little before Schneider moved back to kiss him, swallowing Paul’s moans as his hands came to travel down his body. The guitarist was shaking slightly under him, a surprised gasp making itself heard when Schneider took hold of him.

Smirking a little, Schneider went down to work, lips swallowing all sounds coming from Paul as the guitarist’s hands were holding his shoulders for dear life. The last memories of his nightmare disappeared from his mind, focused as he was on pleasuring his lover to the best of his abilities, the bed squeaking in rhythm under them. This was his life now – driving across Europe to play music with his friends in sold-out venues, his lover at his side every step of the way.

There was no place for strange forests and rivers of blood.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought of it :)
> 
> [tumblr](https://ghostlovesc0re.tumblr.com/).


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